


Excerpts From the Letters of Sarah McBride Anderson, 1904-1908

by Beatrice_Otter



Category: Daddy-Long-Legs - Jean Webster
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, College, Epistolary, Gen, Misses Clause Challenge, POV Female Character, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28189122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Otter/pseuds/Beatrice_Otter
Summary: Sarah McBride Anderson is best known for her work as a suffragette and later as the Representative of Massachusetts' 5th Congressional District, where she served from 1925-1937 (the first woman to represent Massachusetts, and the seventh woman in the US House of Representatives). Less well known is her lifelong friendship with J.A. Pendleton, the celebrated novelist and Pulitzer Prize winner. The two women met at college, where they roomed together. Although the correspondence between the two women after their college years has been published, these letters (excerpted from Anderson's letters home to her family during their college years) have not, and provide a fascinating glimpse into their friendship.
Comments: 50
Kudos: 74
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Excerpts From the Letters of Sarah McBride Anderson, 1904-1908

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Candyoranges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candyoranges/gifts).



214 Fergussen Hall,  
October 6th, 1904

Dear Mama,

In the middle of the day, when I'm at class or visiting with friends or playing basketball, I am so perfectly content with life here at college that I can't imagine not being here. And then evening falls and I go back to my room, and I long to be there at home with you all. Little Helen will have grown out of all recognition by the time I'm home for Christmas, and she probably won't remember me! I've always been so cross with Billie for making a mess everywhere and getting dirt and mud over everything, and now I think I could face his worst depredations with equanimity if only we were home together. (Don't you dare tell him I said that!)

Tell Granny that I _am_ wearing my woolen stockings—two layers even, sometimes—and am keeping properly warm. I haven't needed the mittens she knitted for me yet, but I am sure that when the weather turns they will be warmer than anything I could buy in the store, because her love is with me.

The food is edible, but it's not a patch on Bertha's wonderful preparations, and of course I can't nip down to the kitchen for a snack whenever I'm hungry. I _could_ try to keep something in my room—fruit, perhaps, if anything was in season, or cheese, or baked goods in a sealed tin—but then I'd have to worry about crumbs and ants and mice. (There _are_ mice, I'm told, but it may just be a tall tale; I've yet to see any, or hear any shrieks from the other girls.) The meal schedule does get a trifle monotonous. It's not that every week's menu is exactly the same, but there are _definite_ patterns beyond just a roast on Sundays after church. The desserts in particular are on a strict rotation, which makes it almost dreary. And while my room is cozy enough, the halls and some of the classrooms are terribly drafty. I dread what it'll be like in the dead of winter, though of course it should be a bit warmer here than up in Massachusetts!

I do like living up in the tower; we have a smashing view and the room is far more interesting than the ones down below that were built to be dorm rooms. Unfortunately, my roommate Julia is stuck-up, which does not make for a homey or enjoyable atmosphere. She's not mean or cruel, thank God, for _that_ would be miserable to share a room with; but the first thing she did was tell me all the important honors or positions anyone in her family has held going back three generations (on both sides, the Rutledges and the Pendletons), and then asking the same sort of questions about our family, and how many homes we had and where they were. I don't suppose she means to be rude, but it's hard to strike up a friendship with someone who cares more about what your family's done than who you are yourself.

There are two other girls in the tower, both in singles. One is a senior whom I've got nothing in common with, and the other is a fellow freshman named Jerusha Abbot (poor girl!). Her room is tiny; I'm surprised they could fit even _one_ girl in it, but she likes it. The windows are too high up to look out of, but she's turned the top of her dresser into a window seat, which is just the neatest idea, and now we have the right furnishings for her room it is very cozy. She's an odd one, and not just because of her name. She's very smart, but there's an awful lot she doesn't know, and I'm fairly sure every single piece of clothing she owns is new. Now, everything of Julia's is new, but that's because half her wardrobe could have come out of a fashion plate. Jerusha's six dresses are smart but neither high fashion nor particularly costly. Why would a girl with simple tastes and a modest budget splash out for a whole new wardrobe at once? Perhaps her trunk got lost or spoiled somehow and she had to replace everything quickly.

I suppose I should tell you what classes are like, as that is why I'm here. Latin is perfectly lovely; I've always liked the story of Hannibal and his elephants, and now I'm reading it in the original. The Italian professor doesn't like my accent. Mathematics is as easy as ever, but my English professor doesn't like my essays. Why can I write fluently in Italian and French but struggle with my own language? Although, I suppose I've never tried to write an essay in Italian or French, just translations and personal letters. My biology class is a struggle—I'd much rather be in physics, where it's all numbers, instead of dissecting things. Julia wants me to help her with her geometry, but you know I'm terrible at explaining things. I keep telling her to ask Jerusha for help, since they're in the same class, but she hasn't yet—I think Julia thinks that Jerusha is beneath her, which only shows what a terrible snob she is, for Jerusha is worth ten of Julia.

Kiss Billy and the baby for me, and give my love to Father and Granny.

Sincerely,  
Your loving daughter,  
Sallie McBride

214 Fergussen Hall,  
November 16, 1904

Dear Jimmie,

Finally remembered that you have a sister, eh? All that wise, brotherly advice would have been _much_ more useful at the beginning of my first year at college, not two months into it; and anyway, things are different at a women's college. The school is responsible for our reputations, you know; no male visitors (except possibly fathers) and only good, wholesome fun. And a ten o'clock mandatory bedtime. It's not that I _mind_ good, wholesome fun, and I certainly wouldn't be up at all hours or entertaining gentlemen callers in my boudoir, but I do resent the idea that they don't trust me or any girl here. Honestly, the most logical way to do it would be to give the boys' schools more rules than the girls', because heaven knows the male sex is more likely to misbehave if given half a chance. (You might give a thought to whose room is next to yours at our cabin in the Adirondacks, if you bring friends again next year—I heard quite a bit more than I wished to about your exploits around Princeton. Never fear, I shan't tell our parents.)

Also, I am here for my education and my growth as a lady, _not_ to scout out a girl for you to make sheep's eyes at. Or perhaps I should introduce you to my roommate, Julia Rutledge Pendleton. Of _the_ Rutledges and _the_ Pendletons. She's pretty enough, I suppose, if you like a nose stuck up so far it's a wonder she doesn't trip over her own two feet. Though I doubt she'd condescend to be courted by a _mere_ McBride, so you are safe.

Judy is nicer and just as pretty, but I wouldn't inflict you on her for all the world. Such a tragic story—an orphan, attending college on a scholarship from a kindly old gentleman. The kindly old gentleman taking an interest isn't tragic, but that she's lost her family is. I can't imagine not having Mama and Father and Granny and Billie and the baby and I suppose I'd even miss _you_ if you were gone. (Well, yes, of course I'd miss you—who would carry out my dastardly pranks, if you weren't there? I haven't actually done any pranks here at college, by the way; too busy, and it's hard to know what will be funny and not mean-spirited if you don't know people very well.)

See you at Christmas,  
Your sister,  
Sallie McBride

214 Fergussen Hall,  
January 15, 1905

Dear Mama,

I swear, Julia got worse over the Christmas holiday. Isn't the birth of our Lord and Savior supposed to bring some milk of human kindness to even the most withered heart? (I know that's a terrible mixed metaphor—my English professor still despairs of me!) You wouldn't know it from Julia. No, I've been treated to three—three!—monologues on the importance of only making the _right_ friends, and we've only been back a week! I know you said that her attitude has to come from her family, and that when people think the only important things in life are connections with wealthy and important families they often treat their children more as appendages to the family tree than as, well, children to be loved and cared for, and we should be sorry for her if that's all she's been raised to know, but that makes it no easier to live with her. (And look at that run-on sentence. Will you be terribly upset if I flunk my English and have to take it again? I don't mind reading literature or poetry, but I _hate_ having to write essays about it. My brain was made for equations, not metaphors!)

Why must Julia be so boring and snobby? Why must I room with her, instead of any one of the hundreds of very nice girls I've met so far here on campus? Why couldn't I have been paired with Judy, and given Julia the single room? Actually, on second thought, that would be worse, because then Julia would never stop complaining about being stuck in a tiny room with the only windows too high to look out of. It's bad enough how Julia's been trying to corner Judy and get her entire family tree out of her in order to work out whether she's important enough to be friends with a Pendleton. If _I_ were Judy, or if I didn't have to room with Julia, I'd certainly give her a set down! I certainly hope Julia gets nicer the way she did last quarter, or this will be a _miserable_ year.

I promise I do have other friends—there are so many lovely girls here—it's just that, with Judy and Julia and I all alone together up in the tower (the Senior doesn't count!), we see more of each other than we do anyone else.

Classes are going well, except for English. Well, biology isn't going _well_ , but I'm not worried about failing it, at any rate. But what I'm really excited about is the sports. Gymnastics isn't quite my favorite thing about college, but it _is_ the thing that makes college better than high school. I had Latin and Italian and mathematics in high school, but I never got to play basketball, because that was reserved for the boys. A benefit of going to a women's college is that any activity they have, I am allowed to participate in! And it turns out I'm good at basketball—and even better at the pole vault and the broad jump. It must be the benefit of all those summers being allowed to run wild with Jimmie up in the Adirondacks. Oh, Mama, I know that you allowed me a great deal more freedom than so many other Mamas allow their daughters, but that was merely an intellectual knowledge until I came here and saw how many girls—girls who are otherwise strong and healthy and _should_ be able to run and jump as well as I can—who simply fail at basic athletics. I don't think it's because women are naturally weak; it's because they've never been _allowed_ to before, and have to begin building up their strength and stamina as if they were tiny children.

Tell everyone I love them,  
Your grateful daughter,  
Sallie McBride

214 Fergussen Hall,  
February 17, 1905

Dear Father,

I am so sorry to disappoint you. I did not pass my English examinations and will have to take them again. I did very well in every other course, but I will have serious work to do to bring up my English grade. Break it to mother gently, and please don't tell Jimmie? (I know Mama will not be angry, but her disappointed look is worse chastisement than any cutting words.)

I have a plan, though; I shall be trading tutoring with Judy Abbot, who didn't pass Latin or Geometry but is absolutely _brilliant_ in English. She says she is going to be a writer, and I believe her! She's always the best at making insightful comments about the literature we are studying—how the plot and characters and themes fit together, that sort of thing—and her writing is honestly good enough to be published right now. So as you can see, our strengths and weaknesses are about evenly matched, and we'll help each other get back to where we should be. I shan't ever hope to be a great writer, but I do hope to be a creditable one.

Sincerely,  
Your chastened daughter,  
Sallie McBride

214 Fergussen Hall,  
March 27, 1905

Dear Mama,

I passed my English exam! Thanks be to God and Judy Abbot. (She passed her re-examinations, as well, so I am a success as a tutor.) I cannot _wait_ until I have completed all the required English courses. And I like chemistry _much_ better than biology; we made our own pH paper to test how acidic or basic things are. (Acids are sour things like citrus or vinegar that can corrode things; bases are bitter and slippery like sodium bicarbonate or ammonia). Next week we'll be combining acids and bases to see how they neutralize each other and produce salt.

Now that I've passed, the schoolwork in general will be much easier. I'll only be studying for the classes I'm taking right now, not the classes I have now _plus_ one from last semester. I'm certainly going to stay on top of things, but all work and no play makes Sallie a dull girl, and I know you will agree with me when I say that if I study _too_ much, I learn less than if I rest when I am tired and feed my social needs as well as my intellectual ones.

On the subject of my social life, all the girls are trading off giving dinner parties in our rooms. I think it's fun, and so does Julia I can tell, deep down, but she also worries about whether or not the host of an evening is the "right sort" that her parents would want her associating with. She _has_ gotten better, and thank you for the advice on how to manage her for it has been very helpful, but the idea of a formal party brings it out in her. (Even as informal as we are here!) We can't cook in our rooms, of course, but there are things we can get from the kitchens or the store which don't need to be cooked just before serving, and it's amazing what a little thought and preparation can do to make a jolly little party, and so nice a change from the monotony of the dining hall. The only problem is, the servants do the dishes when you eat in the dining room, and they do _not_ do the dishes when you give a party in your room. I stay to help with the dishes when I can (and of course Julia does not). That's another thing I learned from Judy: how to do dishes. I'd never done them before coming to college, and of course I made an awful hash of it, but Judy just digs in very efficiently. You can tell she's done it before—she must have been too poor to have servants.

Say a prayer for Judy, by the way; she's sick and in the infirmary.

There goes the bell—ten o'clock, time for all good little girls to be in bed. (How I detest being ordered about as if I've not the sense enough to put myself to bed at a reasonable hour.) Give my love to everyone.

Sincerely,  
Your loving daughter,  
Sallie McBride

214 Fergussen Hall,  
April 24, 1905

Dear Jimmie,

The greatest, most useful things I ever learned came from summers at camp in the Adirondacks. How to climb a tree, how to fill someone's bed with frogs (and how to tell the people who deserved it or would think it was funny from those who didn't or wouldn't), how to toast marshmallow over a campfire, and how to squash bugs.

Spring has sprung and with it out have come the creepy-crawlies. I am in great demand as one of the few girls in the entire dorm who is unafraid of centipedes and can squash them with equanimity. (Or, for the most soft-hearted girls, pick them up and throw them out the window.) Our dorm is crawling with centipedes, they're all over the place. Does Princeton have such things? I don't mind, unless I step on one in my stocking feet without noticing, but some of the girls have an absolute horror of them. I've heard some of the most amazing shrieks, which are now a summons to me. I sigh, and sally forth to do battle with arthropods. Truly, I don't mind; I get an awful lot of admiration for it … and more than one girl has responded to my heroism with candy, or a pretty ribbon, or a nice pen, or some other token of thanks. I hope you have a laugh at my heroics.

Your gallant sister,  
Sallie McBride

258 Fergussen Hall,  
September 30, 1905

Dear Father,

Thank you for the political advice; my campaign for Class President is going well! Of my two competitors, one has good ideas but few friends outside her own circle, while the other is quite popular with everyone … but has no platform. Whereas I'm well-liked by a broad spectrum of the class, _and_ have ideas. It isn't _just_ a popularity contest, or it shouldn't be; but being known and liked has a definite importance. The most important plank in my platform is that we are rational creatures, and women of good character, and neither need nor want some of the more draconian restrictions, of which the firm bedtime of 10PM is one. Any time I visit with my classmates, I find half-a-dozen more reasons why the restrictions are obnoxious and unneeded, and we all sit there and assure one another that we would be ever so much better off with a greater degree of freedom, and so my ideas spread. Yesterday, I overheard a pair of Juniors have a conversation that could have been straight out of my campaign handbook (such as it is), and off we went!

Classes are progressing well. Economics is fascinating, Calculus is difficult but rewarding, Logic is, well, logical, and Italian is a pure pleasure. Thank God I am done with my English studies! When I read novels, it will only be for pleasure, and essays will be few and far between! Now that I have most of the required basic courses out of the way, and can focus on the courses I'm actually interested in and good at, things will be easier.

Judy and Julia and I have a cozy little suite, now that it is all furnished up, and Julia is ever so much more tolerable with her own bedroom instead of sharing. I do declare that her family is a bad influence on her; she comes back after each holiday a regular snob, and then we have to jolly her along until she lets go of her pride a little. But when she's not being unbearable, she's actually quite good company. I do feel a little sorry for her; I think she was expecting to be queen of the school simply because of who her family is, only she hasn't the tact or social graces to make friends even with those she considers her own social equals. I don't mind lending her some of mine, as long as she isn't being stuck-up about everything.

Judy, however, is a true friend, and while I tolerate Julia, I'm glad Judy's here. She's been such a great help during the campaign, and of course I wouldn't have passed English last year without her help. She writes stories, and sometimes she acts them out, and we have the grandest time. There are regular theatricals on a larger scale, of course, and Judy participates in those, but they're only two or three a year, whereas Judy can be counted on to entertain whenever things get dull. It's a talent devoutly to be desired in a roommate.

I do think, however, that it's a great pity she hadn't any better education before college than she did. She has the most shocking gaps in her knowledge of the world, things that _should_ have been taught to her in high school, but weren't. It can't have been a very good school. And then there are the things that any reasonably observant person should know just from experiencing life, and she doesn't know _those_ , either. It's not because she's slow or oblivious; quite the opposite. But there was a great deficit in her life prior to college. She hides it as best she can, but it is obvious for those who care to see. She lets slip more than she thinks she does. (Julia, thank the Good Lord, has yet to notice, for I hate to think what she'd do if she did.) I am quite sure Judy has been terribly poor all her life, and it is only through luck and a generous benefactor that she is not condemned to such a life forever. She looks at ordinary things as if they were great treasures; she thinks our room (which is adequate for a college dormitory, but little more) is the most elegant thing in the world. Oh, Father, the world is a terribly unjust place if a person with so much talent and worth could have been so deprived.

I try not to think of it, because there's nothing _to_ be done. I can vote for student body offices, and hold them, but I cannot vote in the elections of our nation. I could become a teacher, but would you allow me to work at any school poor enough to truly need me? I doubt it. And what of the needs besides education? Perhaps I should marry a philanthropist whose causes I could direct. I have always known that I was terribly fortunate to have the family I did, with wealth enough and to spare, and filled with love and good-natured care. But I had not truly understood it until now, with Judy as an example of a poverty of money, and Julia an example of what happens when ones' family has a poverty of love and care. I want everyone to have as loving a home as I did; I want everyone to have a good education; I want everyone to have a life free from want and the more degrading sorts of poverty. But how it is to be accomplished, I don't know. I've learned a lot in college, but that is one thing no class has been able to teach me.

Your reforming daughter,  
Sallie McBride

258 Fergussen Hall,  
October 6, 1905

Dear Mama,

I have won my election! I tell you, I have had a taste for politics. I think I shall be a suffragette, when I am graduated and no longer distracted by classes. Democracy is a wonderful thing, and I mean to continue practicing it when I am through here. And I am not merely speaking of the glories of election night and the parade and the band (although one day I hope to have a parade where the marching band is a brass one, instead of three mouth organs and eleven combs). My platform is ambitious, and will take years to effect, but I mean to have a real and tangible effect on this school so that it is run in a more reasonable and less distrustful manner. Judy was my good right hand, and I couldn’t have achieved anything without her, and even Julia pitched in from time to time.

Speaking of Judy, could we have her home for Christmas? Last year, she stayed on campus; she's no home to go to, poor thing, being an orphan, and no money save her monthly allowance. She's never been anywhere, really; over the summer, she went away to some farm her benefactor found for her. She's so good-natured and so awestruck with anything new that she thinks it quite amazing, but it was only an ordinary farm with an ordinary elderly couple. I felt so guilty to think of us having fun in the Adirondacks while she was making do with practically nothing—I knew she hadn't a home to go to, but I didn't think to invite her, and I should have. Please say she may come for Christmas; she's such a delightful girl, you'll love her as much as I do. (I'd ask Julia, but for the opposite reason. She's _not_ a delightful girl, and being with her family always makes her worse—keeping her away from them, if only for a short while, would be well worth it. But there's no point in asking, for she'd never accept an invitation from a mere McBride, and even if she wanted to, her family would never allow it.)

Your loving daughter,  
President Sallie McBride

258 Fergussen Hall,  
February 11, 1906

Dear Jimmie,

I cannot _believe_ you sent my roommate the largest Princeton pennant I have ever seen in my life. You are _so_ embarrassing and obvious. Thankfully, Judy doesn’t seem to have realized that you are (ineptly) trying to court her. Why would you imagine she wanted it? Just because you want to stake a claim on her? Why not give her something she might actually want for herself?

And the size was your real mistake. Julia and I won't have it in our sitting room, as there's no place for it and it would clash something dreadful. But it's too large for Judy's bedroom, so it won't be put up _anywhere_. Judy may make something out of it to avoid wasting the fabric, but that's the best you shall get. And honestly, it serves you right. A book would have been far more useful, and far more to Judy's tastes, if you had put _any_ thought into it whatsoever, as you obviously did not. Even flowers would have been better, and _that_ she might actually have noticed as a romantic gesture. Though possibly not. She hangs on stories of other girls' romances, but from all available evidence she doesn't notice when boys are interested in _her_. She didn't notice your interest at Christmas, and when Julia's uncle came to visit, he practically hung all over her, and she didn't notice _that_ either, and when I pointed it out (when Julia wasn't there) she thought I was joking. Which I wasn't.

Oh, yes, you have a rival, and he's one of _those_ Pendletons. He's a young man still, but old enough to be dashing and through that awkward stage you and your classmates are mostly still stuck in. And he had the wit to talk with her about things _she_ was interested in, instead of boring her. Apparently, he went to the same farm _she_ stayed last summer, when he was a boy. I wouldn't think a farm with no other amenities but the farm and surrounding countryside would give five minutes' worth of interesting reminiscence, but they kept up the subject for a good half-an-hour. And he talked far more to her than to his own niece, which Judy didn't see anything suspicious in. If she didn't notice _that_ , then she'll never notice _your_ inept efforts as anything other than fraternal, which relieves me. I love you, but you've some growing to do before you're fit to court any woman.

Your sister,  
Sallie McBride

258 Fergussen Hall,  
April 9, 1906

Dear Mama,

We had ever so much fun on our trip to New York. Judy and I had the most jolly time together in a hotel—that was almost my favorite part of the trip! Of course we room together here at college, but we have our own separate rooms; there, we shared a bedroom, and were up to all hours talking and giggling after we turned the lights out. But the rest of it was fun too; the trip and the dinner out at Sherry's and the play. The shopping trip was, well, I think Julia was trying to impress us; even given _her_ wardrobe, I doubt she shops in those places regularly! But Judy had stars in her eyes and didn't notice, and I decided that while we were there, I might as well treat myself, even though I'd never have gone into that shop on my own. I almost bought the loveliest hat, mother—tall and elegant, with a feather sticking up out of it. But then I realized that Judy certainly couldn't afford anything there, and if both Julia and I bought something, Judy would feel left out.

The play was nice; not the _best_ Shakespeare I've ever seen, but a very creditable effort. And certainly many cuts above our little theatrical efforts at college! I loved it, although I would have preferred a different Ophelia.

I kept a sharp eye on Julia's Uncle Jervis. It's not that I've seen anything to his discredit, but Judy has so few friends in the world, she could be ruined so easily, and as charming and delightful as she is, there's little to tempt a Pendleton (lofty family that they are) to marrying a girl with no family or money. And there's something a trifle underhanded in how he's going about it. Not openly, but by inviting his niece "and her roommates" as if it's all for Julia's sake. I might be less critical if it weren't for how grateful Julia is at the attention. I don't think anybody in her family cares about her except to criticize or lecture her on the family importance. And here she puffs up at the slightest attention and care, except … it's not for _her_ sake, it's for Judy's. She'll be so crushed when she figures it out, if she ever does. (Perhaps she suspects—she kept asking Judy questions about her home and family on the train back, and she doesn't do that often any longer.)

For all that, Uncle Jervis (who didn't want us calling him that, especially not Judy) was a perfect gentleman and a good host. Perhaps he has good intentions; I hope so.

And now we're back on campus, but the excitement won't stop. Field Day is coming up, and I shall be competing. So will Judy—and Julia will be acting in a short skit! I didn't think she had it in her, but she's been the happiest I've ever seen her when talking about it. (There was some deal or other with her family—I don't think her mother approves? But her father said she might, as long as it was just "some college thing" with no outside guests.) At any rate, it was great fun last year, and promises to be so again this year. I can hardly wait!

Your loving daughter,  
Sallie McBride

258 Fergussen Hall,  
May 26, 1906

Dear Mama,

Thank Granny for the recipe for the carpet cleaning solution; it did work a little, but a large brown stain remains. Drat Mary Adamson's butterfingers! It was a perfectly beautiful rug, but it will never be the same. (The fudge was wonderful, though, and we had so much fun making it, even with the mess!)

The new dormitory should be finished by the time we come back next fall. I am pulling every string I have to get the three of us into it: it promises to be the nicest, with fewer drafts and (hopefully) no centipedes. I don't mind them, but I am getting thoroughly tired of being known as the one who minds them the least. It's worse this year, because more people know me because I'm the class president. Ah, the heavy duties of office! 

All my classes are going well! I disagree with a great many of the things my economics professor says (she's terribly reactionary), but she _does_ know the subject well and I'm learning a great deal from her. My Civics class is wonderful; the professor has travelled all over Europe (and to a few South American nations, as well) and is always bringing in examples about how other nations do things, not just the United States. It is so interesting how different groups of people solve (or don't) the same problems.

Speaking of problems that need solving, I think Judy's summer holiday is one. She's to go back to that same backwoods farm to rusticate, and I could just cry when I think of her there all by herself. Do invite her along, please, for she would have ever so much more fun with us. Though she's prickly about accepting charity—if you write and say you want her as a companion for me, then she'll be thrilled and won't think she has to turn it down because it's a favor she can't repay. (The trip to New York was fine with her, because she thought it was for Julia's benefit; an invitation in her own right is a different thing, I've found.)

Your loving daughter,  
Sallie McBride

201 Taylor Hall,  
September 14, 1906

Dear Mama,

I have solved the riddle of Judy's mysterious benefactor. He must be a friend of Jervis Pendleton, for you'll _never_ guess who showed up to that backwater farm in the middle of nowhere that Judy was required to spend the summer at! None other but that rat Jervis Pendleton. I've hinted at this to Judy, but she brushes it off. She can't imagine herself as a young lady of charm and grace and beauty and intelligence that a man such as he might be interested in, even as a dalliance. And I suppose it _might_ be a coincidence … but I very much doubt it. He's rich, handsome, and charming … and if he had honorable intentions, why wouldn't he declare himself instead of eeling his way in through Julia? (I have half a mind to set Jimmie on him if he tries any more tricks like that. Jimmy's a boxer, he could take him! And for Judy, he would.)

But happily, she is now a woman of independent means instead of depending on Mr. Pendleton's friend for everything. She sold a story and got a check for $50, so she has some spending money, and she got a scholarship which covers her tuition and board, so that next summer there will be _no one_ who can tell her she can't come to the Adirondacks with us.

On happier note, I am so glad to be back at college. I have so many good friends here whom I dearly miss over the summer; I almost dread graduation, for we are so happy here, and in two years we shall all be gone and moving on to the next stage in life. Marriage, children, philanthropy. And while all of that is worthwhile, of course—and I do very much look forward to it—I will miss the friendships and living so close to all my friends.

Speaking of philanthropy, do you recall when Mrs. Smith was talking about settlement houses this summer? She disapproved of them, of course (she would! Such a mean woman!), but I've asked around and it turns out that Doctor Graves who teaches history used to serve in one. They're houses intentionally planted in impoverished neighborhoods, to provide resources and classes for the community. They depend on, among other things, respectable ladies of education and a desire to do good, who live in them and provide a moral example and classes and help to their less fortunate neighbors as needed. I think I would like to try my hand as such a teacher. It wouldn't pay; I would be volunteering my time. But it's not as though I need the money. Do you think Father would mind? I know you would be fine with anything I did, so long as I was happy and respectable, and this seems to me to be the most useful thing I could do. There are several in Boston, so I wouldn't even be far from home.

But that is all in the future. In the present I am studying hard in all my classes. In Psychology, we are debating the merits of the Freudian school vs. the Jungian. I am firmly in the Jungian camp, as I have never in my life seen anyone with any of the complexes Freud claims to find. Advanced physics is _fascinating_.

And when I am not studying, I am campaigning. I intend to be elected for a second term as Class President, and I am well on my way! Sarah Collins is also running, and she has both popularity and a good platform, but I think mine is stronger … and I accomplished everything I promised, last year, except the abolishment of the ten o'clock lights-out bell. (This year, I shall be victorious! I am wearing them down, I swear!)

Your loving,  
Sallie McBride

201 Taylor Hall,  
November 20, 1906

Dear Jimmie,

I can't wait to see you here at college! But mind, there are far more rules of conduct here than there are at Princeton; you simply won't be able to get away with any scrapes here without disgracing me and Judy, and if you do I shall kill you—and Father will be on _my_ side, not yours. You will be respectful. You will not whine or tease. You will have fun and dance with all the girls and drink punch to your heart's content. She's a nice girl and deserves to have the best time, and so do all the other girls you will be dancing with. I'll make sure you aren't put on the dance card with anyone _really_ terrible, but I tell you now that not everyone will be as pretty as Judy is. You aren't here to make sheep's eyes at Judy, you're here so that every girl who dances with you will have a marvelous time. You can go off-campus whenever you wish; we can't. Our lives are far more restricted. Please be courteous even if the girl isn't one you would have chosen yourself. I know you are capable of it.

I know, I know, you're an adult now and a college man, but forgive me: I have too many memories of you pulling girls' pigtails and putting frogs in peoples' beds over the summer holidays. (And yes, I did that too … but you did it longer, despite being older.) Speaking of the camp, the town will be _filled_ with young men come just for the dance. I highly recommend bringing a sleeping bag and a tent, even though it _is_ November. There will be room for you in the hotel … but that room is _highly_ likely to be a place on the floor!

I am looking forward to seeing you!  
Sallie McBride

201 Taylor Hall,  
January 25, 1907

Dear Father,

All my classes are going well. Winter term is always my most productive, because for all the fun we have sleighing and sledding and skiing, we _do_ spend less time outdoors during the winter. And we have many activities, but (unlike Judy and Julia) I am no thespian, nor am I in Glee Club. So while _they_ are out rehearsing, _I_ am at home, studying. None of them are particularly interesting this term, or perhaps it is only the natural ennui of the middle of the school year.

We have all become political here. On those nights when we are not studying and the thespians are not rehearsing, we sit around and talk about the state of the world. There are a steady stream of girls coming through as Judy and I hold court. (Julia is not one for politics; she thinks it dull, and has no opinions her father didn't have first, only louder, as if to impress him despite the fact that he isn't here. Now, get into a discussion of the latest trends in art, and she will talk your ear off on the relative merits of the Expressionists versus the Realists.) But Judy and I hold forth in a court of budding socialists.

Don't worry—we aren't too terribly radical! No revolutions for us, please and thank you; I can't see how anything good can come out of bloodshed. But you yourself have often said that we need better medical care for the poor, and that (for all the good they do) the YMCA and the Red Cross and such are insufficient to meet the needs of modern American poor people. To this Judy has a great deal to say about the care of orphans and other indigent persons, with many creative suggestions for how things might be made better. And if voluntary Christian associations are not enough to supply the vast need, then some greater change is needed. After all, did not Christ tell us that we would be judged by our care of the poor and needy? Did not the laws in Leviticus require the community to take thought for the care of widows, orphans, and strangers? We talk, and talk, and by nine o'clock we've disposed of all the problems in the world and head off to bed assuring ourselves that if women had the vote, things would be much better run, for we can hardly make more of a mess of things than the men have. Progress does not happen by accident; it happens because people _make_ it happen, and we women are determined to do so.

I've been speaking more with Doctor Graves about her experiences in the settlement house she served. It was hard work, there is no doubt about it, and she does not try to hide it or sugar-coat it in the slightest. But, oh, there is a light in her eyes when she speaks of it. I think I could do something good there, something with my life. I know you don't like the idea of me living on my own, but I wouldn't be; I would be living in a community, a respectable community doing good work. Judy has a calling in her writing, and I think this might be mine.

Your loving daughter,  
Sallie McBride

201 Taylor Hall,  
June 6, 1907

Dear Mama,

Thank you so much for finding a tutoring job for Judy! It won't be easy work, for you know how feather-headed young Florence is. But Judy is so happy and proud at the prospect of her wages, and the Pattersons are lovely people, and their summer home at Cliff Top is such a wonderful place. I doubt Judy's ever seen the sea, but I know she will love it. She has taken to swimming like a duck to water, and will be thrilled to have the whole ocean! I'd love to have her over the summer, but of course a good job with a respectable family is a start on the life she wants. (It will take time, I think, to make a career as a writer, and she must have something to live on in the meanwhile.)

Julia is going to Europe this summer, and I think she's trying to make us jealous. And while I _would_ like to visit London and Paris and Milan and Cologne, I think I'd pass if it meant months with her family. Judy told me all about Christmas with them when Julia was out of the room, and they sound just as dreadful as I'd imagined. I'd invite her to the Adirondacks with us, but we are not important enough for them, and the Adirondacks are not fashionable enough.

But I cannot wait to join you all there! I look forward to mornings spent crocheting with Granny, afternoons playing with Helen (not so much a baby these days!) by the lake and going canoeing with Jimmie, and evenings dancing. I expect to do well in my examinations, but sometimes it is hard to keep my mind on my work with the delights of summer both outside my room and coming so quickly. (Studying would be easier if there were more gray and rainy days!)

Your loving,  
Sallie McBride

105 Taylor Hall,  
November 18, 1907

Dear Mama,

I am quite buried in drifts of paper. No, it isn't my own studying, it's all from Judy's literary endeavors. She's the editor of the _Monthly_ , and I had no _idea_ how much work there was in that. She keeps the papers confined to her room as much as she can, but it overflows onto every surface. And then there's her own writing. She was crushed that her first novel got rejected, but Judy is irrepressible and bounced back the next day. And now she's started on her _next_ novel, and paper follows her simply _everywhere_. I'm glad she's happy, but does it have to take over our study? We have to clean of a surface to do anything, and woe betide us if we put things in the wrong order!

My classes are going well, but I do miss being Class President. Jane Peterson deserved her win—I was complacent, I can see it now, and believed that after two years in office I would simply float to another victory. Jane saw that and worked hard and had a good platform with fresh ideas. And, truly, it does give me more time for enjoying my final year here at college. But oh, it does still sting even after a month and a half. And they have _finally_ agreed to eliminate the ten o'clock bell and lights out rule, after two years of hard work on my part, and _she'll_ take the credit of it. I suppose I shall simply have to be philosophical. That the change _happened_ is the important bit, not whether anyone remembers that it was my ideas and hard work that got us most of the way to the goal.

Ah, well, I am sure it will be great practice for life. I mean to work for women's suffrage no matter what, and when we get the vote I intend to be a politician. (No, I haven't given up the idea of settlement work—I'm more set on it than ever, and am considering at this point only which settlement house I should join. But that is hardly something I'll want to do all my life, and getting elected to public office will do nicely for the second half of my life's work, don't you think? Neither goal shall be easy, but both will be important.

Your ambitious daughter,  
Sallie McBride

105 Taylor Hall,  
February 19, 1908

Dear Mama,

Spring has come early this year! A whole group of us went on an evening ramble across country Sunday afternoon and evening, up hill and down dale and over to the Crystal Spring Farm for dinner. Their fried chicken is divine! I do believe that fully half their income comes from college girls going out for dinner. There are other farms around of course who also serve dinner for anyone who stops by, but they do not do so good a business, because their food isn't as good. The Jeffersons who run the Crystal Spring Farm are thinking of adding a regular dining room, instead of just having tables out on their screened porch. We weren't back by seven, of course, but nobody noticed—they almost never do, and on the rare occasions a professor notices, they rarely make a fuss about it, as long as you are in a group and it is clear you were not sneaking off for some disreputable activity. Julia went with us, and if you'd told me freshman year that she would unbend far enough to bend curfew rules—and for the purpose of a walk across country and dinner at Crystal Spring Farm!—I would never have believed you. Looking back, I am amazed at how much she has changed, and I think it is due to being outside of her family's dreary embrace for months at a time. I hope that graduation and moving back to her parents' home does not undo all the growth!

Speaking of leaving college, Judy has invited me to join her at the farm she spent her first two summers at, Lock Willow. I think she's excited at the prospect of showing someone else a place she loves so much, and I haven't the heart to disappoint her. It's not as if our family would be doing anything particularly interesting, and of course it's always fun to spend time with Judy, even if the farm itself has few charms beyond the natural beauties one finds throughout New England.

And on a further note, I am in correspondence with Miss Dudley of the Denison House in Boston and Mr. Tucker of the South End House. I know that you and Father would prefer the Denison House because it is headed by a woman, and I do see some draw in that. The connection with alumnae of our sister colleges is no small thing, considering how much I have loved my time here! But the programs and focus of the South End House are honestly more interesting to me. I am torn, but I shall have to make up my mind soon. Four more months, and then I too shall be an alumna!

Your loving (almost) graduate,  
Sallie McBride

South End House, Boston  
October 15, 1908

Dear Jimmie,

You may whine about how boring your job is to anyone you please. Anyone, that is, who is not me. I have only been here at the South End House for three months, but I have seen such poverty as I never thought existed in all the world. I have seen people who work until they drop from exhaustion, and people who starve because they cannot work. You, on the other hand, are a Princeton graduate with the full use of a brain and all your limbs, who have never known any sort of want in your life. You achieved your current job, boring though it is, because our father is grooming you to take over his factories one day, but if you decided you wanted something different, and actually had a direction in mind other than whatever path is easiest, Father would finance it in an instant. _You_ have nothing to complain of, and it only makes you sound as you did when you were a boy and Nurse made you take your medicine on those rare occasions you were sick. I love you dearly, and I do wish you'd grow up a bit more.

Oh, and you may cease your speculations on how you might win Judy's heart. She's engaged to be married, and while I certainly wouldn’t have chosen Jervis Pendleton for her (it turns out he was even more scheming than I thought), he has actually done well by her and she's shown she can stand up to him if she needs to. And she's decided she loves him, and I am sure they shall be very happy together. And he successfully broke through her obliviousness, which I thought quite impressive of him. You will undoubtedly encounter her occasionally; she is one of my dearest friends and I have _no_ intention of allowing our friendship to lapse as some college acquaintances do. Please endeavor to mend your broken heart between now and then? I'm sure Mama can introduce you to any number of suitable girls, now you can't pine over Judy any longer.

Your sister,  
Sallie McBride

**Author's Note:**

> On [tumblr](https://beatrice-otter.tumblr.com/post/639134460372271104/yuletide-reveal-excerpts-from-the-letters-of). [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/1963340). [Dreamwidth](https://beatrice-otter.dreamwidth.org/414122.html)
> 
> We are given very few hard dates, but one of those we do get is that September 24th of Judy's first year at college is a Saturday, which means that it could have been either 1904 or 1910 (the book was originally published in 1912). However, if she started in 1910, there would probably be at least some mention of tensions in Europe when Julia goes off to Paris every summer, if not in the beginning of the story then at least by their Senior year which would be 1914. So I have chosen 1904 as the year. However, I have almost certainly put in more thought than Jean Webster did to the dates, because if September 24th is a Saturday, then December 19th is a Monday. We are told students go home for Christmas Break starting the Saturday after December 19th, which means … Christmas Break literally starts on Christmas Eve.
> 
> Also, from noticing when examinations are (all the ones Judy notes are either February or May/June) the college seems to be on a quarter system instead of a semester system.


End file.
